


Morning Agreements

by dragonspell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek Hale, M/M, Morning Sex, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4441277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hands slip around him from behind, stroking up his chest with an insistent demand.  They grope at his pecs and tease his nipples, pinching and pulling, sending sparks skittering along Derek’s nerves.  He grunts and flattens the hands to his chest to hold them still.  There’s still the vague thought that he can get out of this without fully waking up.  That’s before a hard cock rides up the crack of his ass and the lips on his neck pull back to reveal teeth that threaten along his skin.  God damn it.  “Go away,” Derek groans.  </p><p>“Derek,” Stiles whines.   “It’s up, though.”  Stiles emphasizes his point by rubbing his dick against Derek, like that proves something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Agreements

“Derek.” The voice tickles at his ear, kicking his sluggish brain into a stilted and stuttering first gear before it stalls out. A warm puff of air makes him twitch and Derek furls his brow. His instincts tell him to go back to sleep, that he’s warm, the voice is safe, and, if he doesn’t move too much, he might just be left alone. “Derek.” There’s a steady heartbeat behind him. Derek grunts and rolls away, pulling the blankets with him. The blankets resist. “ _Derek._ ” He groans. Just a few more minutes, that’s all he wants. A warm mouth moves against his ear, lips closing around the outer shell and following it down to suck on the lobe. In his odd state of being half-awake, it’s pure bliss and Derek tilts his head accommodatingly, wanting more. A tongue licks at his jaw and a lazy pleasure envelopes Derek. He sighs. As long as the mouth stays where it is, he could lay here for the rest of his life.

Thing is, foreplay is for the patient. Hands slip around him from behind, stroking up his chest with an insistent demand. They grope at his pecs and tease his nipples, pinching and pulling, sending sparks skittering along Derek’s nerves. He grunts and flattens the hands to his chest to hold them still. There’s still the vague thought that he can get out of this without fully waking up. That’s before a hard cock rides up the crack of his ass and the lips on his neck pull back to reveal teeth that threaten along his skin. God damn it. “Derek.” 

“Go away,” Derek groans. He swats the body behind him, but only gets in a glancing blow. It also frees one of the hands on his chest. 

“Derek,” Stiles whines. He runs his teeth over Derek’s neck and pulls on a nipple, sending a shiver running up and down Derek’s spine that drives away the pleasant haze that Derek had been drifting in. Sleep is officially something of the past. “It’s _up_ , though.” Stiles emphasizes his point by rubbing his dick against Derek, like that proves something.

“It’s always up,” Derek mutters. Derek refuses to be sympathetic. He’d been _sleeping_ , damn it. 

“True,” Stiles says, because there’s no way that he can argue the point. It’s up first thing in the morning, during breakfast, in the middle of Stiles’s 10 AM class, after lunch and all through dinner unless it’s with Stiles’s dad and even that’s a maybe. They can just finish fucking and it might still be up. Derek understands that Stiles is only 19, still riding teenage hormones, and he can appreciate the fact that Stiles finds Derek attractive enough in the morning to want it and cares enough to ask but, _damn it_ , Derek only got in at 4 last night and it is currently—he blurrily looks at the clock—seven thirty. Fuck. 

It’s not like he doesn’t know that Stiles is going to text him pictures of his cock all day, either. Derek’s aware that his boyfriend is a horny little bastard. Stiles rocks himself against Derek, proving Derek’s point without Derek having to say a word. “Stiles.”

“Just a little bit?” Stiles pleads. “Come on, Der, you know I’ve got class until 8 today. I’m not going to make it.” He mouths at Derek’s neck and skims his hands down Derek’s chest, reaching under the covers. Stiles fondles Derek’s soft cock, rolling it in his fingers. “You’re so hot. You know I’m going to be thinking about this all day.” Derek’s ready to tell Stiles that’s what hands and bathroom stalls are for but then Stiles has to go haul out the big guns. “Please? For me?”

Derek sighs. He hates that voice. That’s the voice that gets him to climb trees to save wayward kittens that hate him and make chocolate chip pancakes at midnight and sleep in the goddamned wet spot even though he wasn’t the one that forgot to put down a towel. It’s 100% manipulative bullshit and Derek knows it, yet he can’t ever manage to resist it. “Cheater,” Derek growls.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “Sue me.” He rubs his cheek against Derek’s hair and goes back to sucking at Derek’s ear. “I didn’t get to see you yesterday. Or, you know, much at all this week.” 

Oh, that’s playing dirty, too. Because that was completely honest and, yeah, okay, Stiles isn’t the only one who’s been feeling kind of needy lately. Derek possibly might have returned some of Stiles’s pictures with some ill-advised ones of his own. Derek sighs again, knowing that he’s already lost. “Okay.”

“Yes?” Stiles says and Derek likes the way his voice jumps in delight. It squeezes Derek’s heart in its joy. “God, I love you.” Stiles kisses along Derek’s back and he happily snuggles closer, eliminating the already non-existent space between them, his cock rolling in tight little circles against Derek’s ass. The hand that he’s got around Derek’s cock moves with more purpose, steadily tugging. 

Any other time, Derek would have been all for it, but right now? Right now, he wants something different. Derek frowns and shifts his hips backward, pulling away from Stiles. “Just…” He draws Stiles’s hand upward and laces their fingers together before pressing their joined hands against his stomach. “Like this,” he whispers.

Stiles nuzzles into Derek’s neck. “Sure.” He goes back to the little kisses, sinking Derek back down into contentment. Derek closes his eyes and lets himself drift. He’s bone tired, exhaustion going even beyond werewolf healing, but this he can do. The overall feeling that is pure Stiles surrounds him, curls up inside of him. Scent, touch, sound, the pulsing energy that makes up Stiles’s core, it all relaxes Derek, easing the lingering stress from the day, loosening his body better than a massage. Stiles’s touch soaks it up with no superpowers required, just himself and a sense of home.

This is what Derek wants. This is what he needs. 

Derek puts his nose in the pillow, inhaling the combined smell of him and Stiles. _Mate_ , his instincts say. _Love_ , his heart replies.

Stiles pushes at Derek’s top leg and Derek obligingly moves it, curving it upwards to give Stiles the ability to do as he likes. Warm air blows over Derek’s ear as Stiles palms his ass, fingers dipping in. Stiles spreads him, presses a finger against his hole, and sighs when Derek pushes back encouragingly. “I love you,” Stiles says, fervent and sincere. He leans away for a moment, then comes back with a bottle he pops open on Derek’s hip, muttering about only having one hand. Derek’s not giving up the other. He’s holding it captive and Stiles might never get it back.

Two of Stiles’s fingers slip into him, smooth and slick. They swirl around for only a few seconds before they’re gone and Stiles replaces them with his cock. Derek hides his smile in the pillow. Patience has never been Stiles’s forte. When Stiles tops, Derek’s sometimes lucky if he gets any prep at all. Usually it’s two fingers and then straight on in. When Stiles bottoms, Derek can get him to yowl like a cat in heat by simply taking his time. 

Derek loves taking his time.

Stiles swears and pants in Derek’s ear as he forces himself inside. Derek’s mouth opens at the stretch. Dead tired or not, Derek loves this part. He presses back into Stiles, wanting Stiles inside of him, wanting to feel filled—safe, loved, and needed. His heart speeds up, thumping in his chest, though nowhere near as wildly as Stiles’s. In between breaths, Stiles peppers kisses on Derek’s back, lips forming unvoiced words against Derek’s skin. Derek can only make out a few of the sounds, the fullness of the ‘sh’ that push Stiles’s lips forward, how his mouth opens with the ‘oh’ and the lick of his tongue with the ‘l’. Derek rubs his thumb soothingly over Stiles’s hand and Stiles tightens his grip. He drags Derek’s torso backwards and then groans, soft and punched out, as he finally sinks in fully. A breathy ‘f’ presses against Derek and widens into the vowel. Derek nods his head in agreement.

His cock is still soft between his legs, though it twitches every now and then with the gentle hum of pleasure that’s radiating along Derek’s nerves. Derek rolls his hips backward into Stiles, making him gasp, then settles against the bed again, shifting half onto his stomach to spread his legs a little wider. Stiles hooks a hand under Derek’s thigh and moves on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. He snaps his hips down, rocking the bed underneath them. Derek inhales sharply, tensing for a moment before letting himself go boneless. 

Stiles is on top of him, around him, inside him, and Derek is truly claimed. Derek sighs softly. He breathes in the smell of Stiles and him and adjusts to the rhythmic rocking of the bed. “You feel so good,” Stiles mutters. “You feel so good, Derek. I love you. Can’t believe you let me do this. Can’t believe how hot you are.” He licks along Derek’s tattoo, tongue tracing the swirls.

The marks that Stiles leaves along his shoulder with little nips and sucks fade almost as soon as they’re made but Derek still feels them. They sink down past his skin, burrow into the steady pulse inside of him that beats out Stiles’s name. Stiles mouths at his ear and Derek reaches backwards to thread his fingers through Stiles’s hair. He wants to bind himself to Stiles, to make it so they can never be separated. He’ll settle for this.

Words are still escaping from Stiles’s lips, little bits of praise and garbled nonsense. They’re soft and flow like poetry. Derek loves them like he loves the hard beat of Stiles’s heart, the ragged pant of his breath. Stiles clenches his arms around Derek, holding him tight—keeping him safe. Derek moves his mouth against the pillow, letting his bottom lip drag over the casing. He rubs his check against the dampness and then buries his nose again, wanting to immerse himself in the smell of Stiles. Derek likes the feeling of being stretched around Stiles’s cock, likes the proof that Stiles wants him, likes the knowledge that he’s giving Stiles pleasure. 

The continual movement of the bed and Stiles’s soft little noises combine into a soothing wave and lull Derek back into a state of half-waking. He hovers there, slumped on the bed, safe and comfortable as Stiles uses his body. The steady in and out of Stiles’s thrusts is hypnotic in a way. Stiles’s cock grazes his prostate, causing a sizzle of intensity that makes Derek squirm and Stiles murmurs an apology into his skin as he shifts his hips lower. His one hand rubs soothingly over Derek’s side, quieting Derek back into calm contentment.

Just before he comes, Stiles pulls out, leaving Derek empty and jerking him back into wakefulness. Stiles stifles his broken groan against Derek and comes, spilling onto Derek’s ass and lower back. It fills the air with the scent of him and Derek inhales it readily. Panting, Stiles collapses in to a sprawl on top of Derek. He wiggles his hand free of Derek’s grip. 

Derek knows that he must be drifting back to sleep because he feels Stiles move, registers the smacking kiss that Stiles gives his shoulder, but it all seems distant, like he’s hovering above it. The bed shifts as Stiles leaves and Derek hears the shower turn on.

He next wakes up to a cloth wiping over his backside, removing the traces of Stiles and lube. Derek’s lips curl into a smile as Stiles mutters about grooming and mates. Damn right, Derek thinks. The cloth goes away but Stiles doesn’t, still kneeling on the bed leaning over Derek. Looming, really. It’s distracting. “Now who’s the creeper?” Derek murmurs.

“Still you,” Stiles retorts. He hovers for another few seconds, then he drags his cheek against Derek’s, forcing the stubble to scrape his smooth skin and Derek’s wide awake again. He rolls onto his back and blinks up at Stiles’s smug grin.

“ _Fuck_.” His wolf paces inside of him, wanting to pounce, to take, to claim. All things Derek doesn’t have the energy for. Derek shoves the urges back down.

“See you tonight,” Stiles tells him. He starts to slide off the bed but before he can, Derek hooks an arm around his neck and drags him back down. Derek forces their mouths together, sucks on Stiles bottom lip before tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Surprised, Stiles flails and falls back on top of him, hands skittering over Derek’s chest. Derek grips Stile’s hair to hold his head still and Stiles surges against him, hips rolling into Derek as he returns the kiss whole-heartedly. He’s hard again.

When Derek finally lets him ago, Stiles is panting again, his face flushed. “Actually, I can skip class today,” he says. “It’s okay. Just going to be a lecture and discussion. Fuck participation grades, right?” Like Stiles doesn’t live for arguing during the discussions. 

Derek shoves him away. “Go to class and let me sleep.”

“Derek.” There's that whine again.

“I’m going to sleep, Stiles,” Derek says firmly. He rolls his eyes at Stiles’s pout, feeling his resolve starting to cave. “I’m not due back in until Saturday, you know.”

Stiles searches his face, looking for the trick. “And?”

“And,” Derek says, “if you go to class and actually let me sleep, maybe tonight I’ll be rested enough to do whatever you want.” Dangerous. If Derek’s learned anything from living with Stiles, it’s that giving him free rein can be very, very dangerous. Derek’s too tired to care.

Stiles narrows his eyes shrewdly. “French maid?” Derek winces. God. He hates the maid act. Only because Stiles insists that he actually attempt to dust but pulls him away before he gets farther than a shelf. It annoys him. Cleaning or fucking, pick one for the love of God. 

The skirt is awfully convenient, though. And Stiles is well aware of how he feels about the black silk panties. He’s caught Derek wearing them underneath his jeans more than once.

“Sure.” Derek puts a rumble in his voice, trying to sound like he’s being more put upon than he actually is. Best not to let Stiles think that Derek is getting away easy.

“With stockings.”

Derek waves him off and closes his eyes again. “Whatever.” For a good eight to ten hours sleep, Derek thinks he might even be willing to fucking shave.

“Derek.”

“What?” Derek growls.

Stiles grins at him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Derek replies but rolls over, pointedly putting his back to Stiles. He hears Stiles’s laugh as he leaves.

It fills his dreams for the next nine hours.


End file.
